Notice
by Storm Midnight
Summary: "There were certain things that could not be forgotten. Things like a favorite brand of tea and warm emerald eyes. There were also certain things that could not be ignored. Things like teary smiles and the shadow of a partially hidden bruise."


**This is something that has been sitting on my hardrive forever, and I'm really glad it finally got finished. This originally started as a writing exercise in preparation for one of my other stories, then I was inspired to expanded on it and here's the result! **

**However before you read I must give a a couple warnings. This is not a happy story. T****his story also puts one of the main Hetalia characters (not Arthur or Kiku) in a bad light, however he is written about in such a way that his name could be replaced by any other and it would have no impact on the plot whatsoever. So if you are a fan of this particular character, just ignore the name and everything will be fine.**

**I hope you enjoy.**

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**Notice**

There were certain things that could not be forgotten. Things like laughter, a favorite brand of tea, and warm emerald eyes that shone in the starlight. There were also certain things that could not be ignored. Things like teary smiles, a bitter ceremony, and the shadow of a partially hidden bruise.

Kiku watched with a solemn expression as his friend adjusted the collar of his turtle neck—a grey garment that had long since been too loose. The shorter man hesitantly reached across the table and placed a hand over one belonging to the Briton, mumbling an apology for the contact. He pretended not to feel how the blond flinched, or how that hand shivered though it was warmed by the cup he was holding moments ago. A kind smile was offered, and an awkward twitch of chapped lips was given as a response. Hands were swiftly recalled and the two sipped in silence. Lukewarm tea served as the only heat felt in the room. That same hand reached once more to hike up the collar of the turtleneck that failed to conceal anything.

Lackluster specks of green dropped to stare at his cup as that damned collar slipped down his thin neck. Long blotches blossomed into view, four dark strikes on a pale canvas. Kiku could tell that identical marks stained the other side of the Briton's neck, with the vulgar patterns marring the hollow of his throat with two round spots. The injury had to only be a few days old.

Certain things could not be overlooked. The raven haired man gritted his teeth and asked the inevitable.

"How has Alfred been?"

Arthur flinched again. There was no mistaking that flash of panic.

Certain facts must be faced, no matter how much Kiku wished for it to be untrue.

The blonde quivered, his thick eyebrows knitting together, "We've been going through a bit of a rough time," his voice was too shaky, too nervous. Where were the cheerful grins of the past? "He's, uh, between jobs at the moment... So it's been a bit of a... Struggle to keep everything running smoothly..."

Which meant Alfred was angrier than usual.

"You've lost more weight," His friend would normally refrain from commenting on such a thing, but his voice edged towards concerned. A look of fear was barely veiled as disapproval. His heart ached, he had seen this many times. Yes, Arthur had always been quite slender but his thinness was on the verge of becoming obvious. How desperately Kiku wished to ignore facial features that shouldn't be so prominent and the slight hallowing of cheeks.

The Englishman quickly folded his arms, a defensive maneuver, "Just... Stress, that's all..."

A pause, then "How have _you_ been?"

"I..." So quiet, so reluctant, "Fine, I'm fine—"

An earthen-eyed glared cut him off. Too much, it was too much to see him suffer, "Don't lie to me." It was rare for Kiku to be so blunt, "I want an honest answer."

There was shaky sigh across from him, the Briton slowly closed his eyes. So weary. "I-I've been getting better..."

"How's your shoulder?" Such an anxious question.

Arthur reopened his eyes and rubbed said shoulder as if it was sore, "It still hurts once in a while but the doctor said it's mended properly..." His voice quivered as he trailed off. Suspicious.

"What's wrong?"

Barely a whisper, "...Nothing..."

"Arthur," That forced them to lock eyes, "That doesn't work with me."

A silent order to tell, passive obedience followed. Where did his resilient resistance go? What had devoured such endearing stubbornness?

"...One of the nurses saw a bruise..." His hand dropped to absentmindedly touch his hip. He winced, "...They started asking questions..."

Another one? From when? Kiku prayed that some action was taken, "And...?"

"I told then I play rugby with my brothers..." A small smile was finally seen, "...They believed me."

Rugby? How on earth could anyone believe that in the shape the Briton was in? How could the medical staff be so blind? Wasn't it their duty to discover all things wrong with a patient, or if an excuse is given is it no longer their concern? Kiku frowned; certainly he couldn't be the only one who saw the situation for what it was. Someone else—someone that could help—needed to realize what was going on.

Again the smaller man's heart filled with pain. He felt so useless.

Arthur's hands moved to rest on the edge of the table, with the feeble sunlight of the window suddenly glancing off a golden band. Kiku struggled to suppress the wave of misery that crashed over him. The one thing that stopped everything, the reason he couldn't help. The raven haired man was caught staring, and a weak scowl crossed the blonde's face. Arthur studied his simple ring. Three years. His brow furrowed as he mentally counted. Three years, seven months and twelve days.

Had it really been that long? Kiku's voice broke his train of thought.

"...You haven't spoken to your brothers since—"

"Since the wedding, I know..." Silence reigned as he twisted the ring around his finger, contemplating, "...I was young..." He whispered, unaware he was speaking aloud.

The underlying meaning: "I was foolish."

His friend looked at him in surprise. That self-depreciating tone had a spark behind it, a fragment of yesteryear. But Kiku knew the blonde didn't mean it. Even if he thought himself foolish he would not regret it, he would always find a reason to stay hiding behind that worthless little ring. Despite those subconscious comments Arthur refused to acknowledge the problem. He pulled up his collar again.

There were a few more moments of silence, "Excuse me," Kiku quickly rose and moved to the service counter where a cheery Spaniard greeted him. An order was placed and money was silently passed over the counter. The café owner tried to give an encouraging smile. He had seen this pair too many times to know he needed to keep his distance and hold his tongue.

A muffin was placed on a napkin and slid onto the café table. Arthur stared at him in confusion for several seconds, "You didn't have to..."

"Eat," The command came softly but firmly, "Please."

A frustrated sigh, "...Fine," Again that spark returned to his voice, "But only because I'm hungry and I was thinking about buying something anyway!" The faintest tinge of pink adorned his cheeks and Kiku couldn't help but smile. Every so often Arthur's old self would surface—sometimes prim and proper, other times dour and sarcastic. However Kiku's favorite moments were when his friend reverted back to what he liked to call a 'tsundere nature.' Blushing and hastily denying, it made the Briton look closest to how he used to be.

He remembered who he was, if only for a short while.

Arthur began to pick at the muffin while Kiku nursed his tea. Simple green tea in even simpler paper cups, he sorely wished the café had something richer. Piece by piece, a conversation came together. They spoke of the weather and current events around town, books they had recently read and all other sorts of things two kindred spirits would discuss. So routine everything had become. Every Sunday Arthur would leave on the pretense of running some errands or wanting to attend a morning Mass, and then he would meet Kiku at the café. The Englishman was the same every single time: quiet and despondent, slowly transitioning to the cynical yet cheerful gentleman that his friend had grown to adore.

The clock of the small establishment suddenly chimed the hour, bringing a look of fear to the blonde's face, "...B-Bollocks, ten already?"

"You don't have to leave right away..." Every time there was a plea to stay.

Every time he was denied, "I can't, h-he'll be furious if I'm late..."

Silently they disposed of whatever food and drink they had leftover and began to put on their coats. "Here..." Kiku pulled a black scarf out of his coat pocket and wrapped it around his friend's neck, "Much better than that turtle neck." Whether he meant for warmth or disguise he couldn't tell. They left a tip on the table, giving the café owner a wave on their way out. As part of their vicious cycle Kiku would walk his companion down the street, and from there they would part ways.

He suddenly decided for a change of pace.

"Kiku...?" The Englishman looked back curiously as he noticed that the shorter man had stopped walking.

A solemn sort of determination made itself known, "Please forgive me for this..." He took a step forward before grabbing his friend's hand and turning around, breaking into a sprint.

"Bloody hell!" Shock gave life to the blonde's features. After several yards Arthur managed to yank his hand away, stopping them both. His was furiously confused, "Have you gone mad?" Panic returned to his voice, "If I'm late he'll—"

Once again the raven haired man seized his friend's hand and pulled him along. Either the Briton was too weak to resist again, or he honestly wanted to see where Kiku was dragging him. An idea had begun to take shape within Kiku's mind, but he needed to know something first. He turned sharply into an alleyway and pinned his friend against a brick wall while mumbling several more apologies.

"What in God's name are you—?"

"I will not stand to see you like this any longer!" Unbridled emotion shone through his words, "How can you let yourself go back to him?" The question had tumbled from his lips before he was aware of it. He fisted the sleeves of the baggy turtle neck, desperately seeking a response. Brown eyes blazed like they hadn't in over three years, challenging Arthur, daring him to respond.

Dull emerald lamps darkened, understanding the question perfectly, "...I don't know what you're—"

Kiku snatched the black scarf he had lent, practically tearing it off the younger man's neck. He grasped the collar of that damnable turtleneck and pulled it down, "He is _hurting_ you Arthur!" His hand shook as he grasped the fabric, "You know _exactly _what I'm talking about!" Tears began to prick at the corners of his eyes, bitter and exasperated. He wanted to take the Briton and save him from it all, to end both their sufferings.

Their eyes drifted to lock for several long moments and Arthur let out a shaky sigh yet didn't reply.

"See? You can't answer me, can you?"

"Let go of me."

"Not until you give me an answer!"

"Let _go—!"_

"No!"

"Dammit Kiku!" With a surprising amount of strength the smaller man was shoved off. "This doesn't concern you!"

The simple sentence sparked an explosive response, _"BAKA!"_ Kiku could barely believe such a harsh, enraged noise could tear from his throat. _"This,"_ He gestured sharply towards his companion, "Does much more than just _concern_ me!"

"Don't—"

"Don't what?" His hands balled into fists, he could feel the blunt of his fingernails biting into his palms. "Would you rather that I just sit in that café every time we meet and act like nothing is happening? Is that what you want me to do? I apologize for my disrespect but I refuse!"

Arthur's eyes had closed during Kiku's outburst. Other than the slightest shake of the head the younger man was a statue, "I need to go..." The reply was hollow and cold. He opened his eyes and turned away.

"No—!" The blonde's sleeve was seized by a frantic hand.

Emerald stones riveted to his friend's in the fiercest glare seen in over three years, "I need to go," He insisted harshly, wrenching his coat free and storming out of the alleyway.

"Arthur!" One eternal, pathetic plea.

The Briton kept walking despite the sob that escaped his throat, and with that retreating back Kiku saw the charcoal collar of the turtleneck slipping down once more. Four dark strikes on a pale canvas.

Embittered, he couldn't help but notice.

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**Hopefully I didn't nsult any America fans, to be honest I literally picked his name out of a hat when it came to who Arthur was being abused by, and as I stated before you could replaced Alfred with any name and it wouldn't be any different (my friend was playing around with one of my rough drafts and changed Alfred to Herr Stick when I wasn't looking, it was one of those things where it shouldn't be funny but it was). Another reason I wrote this was to get a better grasp of what an abusive relationships would look like to an outsider because of a the character I have to portray in my school's spring play (I essentially have to play the same type of charcter as Arthur in this story). **

**Overall I think this turned out well, though I am a little concerned that the ending feels rushed. I was shooting for 'painfully realistic' because based on my knowledge people in abusive relationships 'shut down' when confronted and a reflex tends to be running from said confrontation. Chances are I won't continue this and it'll remain a one-shot.**

**So thank you for reading and if you could review that would mean the world to me! **


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